


A Comforting Warmth

by Morgan Aleghieri (morganaleghieri)



Series: Seteth Birthday Bash one-shots [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bad Dreams, F/M, Not Beta Read, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Relationship, SetethBB2020, Setleth, not route specific
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28240494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganaleghieri/pseuds/Morgan%20Aleghieri
Summary: Jumping in to attempt some of the Seteth Birthday Bash prompts, let's see how we go.Day 1 - Nabatean/FatigueSeteth has an accidental couch nap and has a bad dream.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Series: Seteth Birthday Bash one-shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2072082
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23
Collections: Seteth Birthday Bash 2020





	A Comforting Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> Just going to be little one shots, cause as soon as I hit the holiday break my body is going into fatigue recovery mode for sure 😂

“Oh goodness! Professor Byleth—” Byleth’s eyes widened imperceptibly as she gingerly closed the office door, before calmly turning to the young girl who addressed her. In a soft motion, she touched a finger to her lips, gesturing for quiet.

“He’s done it again,” she said in a low voice, though it was difficult to tell if she was amused or concerned. Flayn sighed.  
“Oh dear. I do wish he would not push himself so hard – he knows what could—” She stopped mid-sentence, scrunched up her face, and stomped a dainty foot ineffectually in frustration. Byleth very nearly smiled to see it.  
“We’ll let him rest for now,” said Byleth. “Would you care to join me for tea, instead?” Flayn’s face lit up eagerly.  
“That would be most delightful, Professor!” she chirruped as they made their way to the stairs. As they reached the ground floor, Flayn paused a moment, captured by an errant thought.

“Professor, are you not _cold?”_

\-----

It had been some time since he had dreamed of the war – the massacre at Zanado, and the loss of his people. Perhaps the current war was wearing on him, perhaps it was merely because he was tired – but, in his mind’s eye, the desecrated ruins of the Red Canyon had never felt so clear. To see it filled him with a hollowness that had dogged him for centuries in his weaker moments, and in his weariness, he let it wash over him.

Zanado was silent – the stillness of a place bereft of life, not even haunted by the ghosts of the ancient Nabateans. Seteth walked amongst the empty ruins, aimless and alone.  
_They are all gone now,_ he mused listlessly. His people destroyed, his beloved wife never again to draw breath… and his dearest Cethleann – so drained from the battle that he could not rouse her. The despair and hopelessness that had overwhelmed him a thousand years ago felt as if it was leeching from his ancient bones and into the blood that coursed through him – threatening to arrest his heart with its bitter poison.

In the midst of those desolate ruins however, something touched his heart. A cool breeze to bear away the ashes of war? He could not tell. There was a warmth that settled upon him, and suddenly he did not feel quite so alone. The desolate canyon with its blood-stained sky became a quiet field, the blanket of dusk drawing gently across the heavens. The cool breeze returned, ruffling his hair as it passed through, the whisper of it lingering on his skin. He took a deep, unconscious breath, and the vague smell of flowers and chalk dust tickled his nose, stirring him very nearly into wakefulness.

The field quietly faded, and with only the shadows of his office to surround him, he let his consciousness slip away once more – his mind content again to slumber dreamlessly.

It was the sound of rain that finally roused him from his ill-advised rest, as it tapped gently against the coloured circles of stained glass. Eyes bleary, he blinked into the darkness and sighed despairingly as he processed his situation. It was late – the sun had long since set. What had he been doing before sleep had taken him? He shifted awkwardly as he stretched his spine, thankful his taste in furniture tended towards the practical and comfortable. Slowly he stood, and something dropped to the floor as he moved to light a candle. _A blanket?_ He wondered. Perhaps Flayn had caught him napping once again. _I will not hear the end of it,_ he mused, and shook his head in resignation.

He struck a light, the hiss of the match combusting filling the otherwise quiet room for a brief moment. The light flared brightly then banked as he hurriedly set to lighting the candles on his desk. Turning back again to the padded chair that nestled in the corner amongst his bookshelves, his eyes alighted again on the heap of fabric that had fallen when he rose. Dutifully he collected it and shook it out – realising with a sudden creeping warmth that it was not a blanket at all.

“Oh,” he uttered in surprise, as he carefully folded the heavy, woollen cloak. Without thinking, he brought the folded garment close to his face and inhaled deeply. _Chalk dust. Rosemary? Not flowers after all. Weapon oil… Byleth._ He closed his eyes as he exhaled. _I ought to return this to her,_ he supposed, albeit begrudgingly. Logic and courtesy would oblige him to do so, but a weaker willed part of himself reasoned that it was too late – the Professor would most likely be at rest. Something deep within him took a deep comfort in the cloak – and he cared not to examine the root of that feeling tonight. Selfish reason would be his guide then. He tucked the cloak under his arm and collected the candle holder – abandoning his office for his own quarters. He would return her cloak tomorrow – for now, he needed a true night’s sleep.


End file.
